Speaking at the World Economic Forum, New York Times financial columnist Andrew Ross Sorkin imagined a future where only wealthy people would be able to travel and ‘those of lesser means’ would only be able to experience the world through a VR headset. He goes on to talk about how that might create a divide between rich and poor. Jesus Christ.

It’s quite obvious how the chess pieces of technology, corporations, capital, violence, and governance are being aligned right now to create a future where the majority are ruled with a generally automated iron fist by the few. It’s the plot of endless sci-fi stories, but what comes to mind is Elysium, where the rich build themselves a giant space station as the rest suffer on a burning Earth patrolled by robots. What’s also evident is that those who aren’t quite wealthy, but live comfortably above most, are generally in favor of this divide, even though it would likely see them stuck holding the short end of the stick with the rest (see: Ross Sorkin and the entire NYT op-ed section).

There’s a good chance it is too late to do anything about it. While groups of people who lean left politically exist in the United States, they’re predominantly in urban areas and proportionally tiny compared to the population at large—a population that believes capitalist neoliberalism is ‘left-wing.’ The type of change required to do anything about wealth disparity—via reform or revolution—is simply impossible. In turn, the country will be forced to look on as the people are robbed, their food supply poisoned (or, eventually, lost), and any reaction brutally policed by stalkers and thugs using AI surveillance. (Even at the local level, despite outrage from the people who elected them, city councils are voting in favor of building data centers everywhere.)

Meanwhile, the wealthy and their fans will go on to have discussions about how they’ll be perceived as all of this violence against humankind continues unpunished. The United States has probably passed any point of anyone in power having to deal with any kind of consequence for any action whatsoever. We can’t even properly handle cops standing around for hours during a mass school shooting, much less force the release of the Epstein Files. This country has volunteered itself into submission.

China might be able to reframe the balance of power in the world and possibly diminish the role of capitalism in the future, but the United States will surely burn itself to the ground—and as much of the world as possible—before that happens.

I moved recently, and the back door of my new place opens up into a fenced-in parking lot. The fence is chain-link on two sides, and metal bars on the side facing the street. There’s an automatic gate for cars to get in and out. The bars are just far enough apart for small animals to be able to squeeze through.

I say this because, for the past two nights, I’ve been woken up by the shrieks of animals in distress. Last night the identifiable cries of a cat echoed through my apartment at three in the morning. I went out to my stoop to see if something was happening, and the cat kept wailing. After a minute, one came in from the street—the stray that hangs out in our neighborhood that my neighbor Donna sometimes cares for and calls Trashy. I heard no other animal sounds, leading me to believe that a person on the street had been attacking her. She saw me and laid on the ground, keeping her distance.

Tonight, or just now rather—I don’t know if five am qualifies as the night or not—a combination of wails and barking woke me up. Two vague shadows that could have been street dogs or coyotes had a raccoon cornered on Donna’s stoop, the raccoon trying to avoid getting caught, barking in a way I’ve never heard a creature sound. Two sounds came from the raccoon: a violent bark in self-defense and an excruciating cry whenever one of the dogs caught hold of it.

I didn’t know what to do and was frozen watching this animal trying to save itself. The raccoon somehow escaped the stoop and scampered across the lot, climbing the chain-link fence. The dogs followed and were able to climb it for a minute or two. The barking and howling continued but the dogs were not able to keep on the fence and eventually abandoned their attack, leaving the raccoon to try and balance on the top, gravely wounded. It tried to walk, it tried to hang on, it swayed as it attempted to head toward the street, its legs were giving out.

After a few minutes, the silhouette of the injured animal fell to the ground of the alley on the other side of the lot and hobbled into the shadows of the building across the way. I have no clue where the dogs went or how they got in and out of my lot. I am sure the raccoon is dead by now.

It’s just one of those things where like, my new place is a pretty amazing spot to live, but when I initially toured it I did not think to ask, How many nights a week am I going to have to listen to a small animal fight for its life? It’s a harrowing experience, to hear and/or see a living creature being attacked. The echoes of wailing fade but that resonant pain and violence lingers in the air. Nothing is comfortable. My cats are scared, huddled up on the bed.

I can handle many things, but stuff like this really gets to me. I know the way the world works—larger animals attack smaller ones, that’s life, et cetera. But confronting it in reality just reminds me of how we humans choose to do this sort of thing to ourselves. Raccoons and cats are kind of just subjugated to nature’s order, but humanity has invented its way out of that. We aren’t subject to violence, we choose it. I don’t have a great memory, but I’ve seen many forms of brutality—accidental deaths, street fights, drive-by shootings, defenseless beatings, murder—and every scene remains crystal clear in my head. I remember exactly where I was, the time of day, the weather. Even just a proximity to violence leaves a mark.

I don’t know, this post has turned into something else. Truth be told, I just am still stirred from hearing and watching that poor raccoon trying not to be torn to pieces on my neighbor’s steps. A little death in the morning tears a hole in the day, and I’ll just be off-balance for the rest of this one.